The Lonely Adventurer
by TravelingThroughTime330
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is absolutely ... Bored. It is not something that he likes to happen to him. Having John away for the night and no cases to work on, he is stuck with trying to find something to do in his flat. What happens from there... Lets just say "The Game is on" as we "Geronimo" WhoLock, Implied DoctorXSherlock (11th Doctor) Rated T for language (Working on Chapter 3 in Hiatus
1. The Game is On

**Disclaimer** \- I do not own Sherlock or Doctor Who. If I did, I would be god. But sadly, I am no such thing. This is only for entertainment purposes. In no way do I do this for any profit or anything ... Not like I really would, but still ...

**Television Shows** \- Doctor Who &amp; Sherlock ^w^

**Pairings** \- ... There is a mention of John x Mary, and probably an implied Doctor (The Eleventh Doctor) x Sherlock (Although David Tennant is love~~)

I thought about this one day when I was in class and thought this might be something cool to write about. I haven't really written any Doctor Who or Sherlock fanfiction, and I thought it would possibly be a test on my abilities as FanFiction writer to see if I could actually write something from the perspective of these two brilliant men. It is my first attempt at a WhoLock FanFiction, so I try to please. ... Besides that ... I don't think I have anything else to say at the moment. I hope you enjoy!

Also, this is before Episode 9 ("His Last Vow") and the Doctor Who Christmas Special (2013) ("The Time of the Doctor") Just for reference sake.

* * *

_**Scene I  
**_

Sherlock Holmes sat alone at 221B Baker Street. It was one of the only times when he remembered how alone he truly was. Many though him to be eccentric. A psychopath.

"High-functioning sociopath, thank you!" He said to himself.

And for the most part, he was alone.

John hadn't returned to the flat, saying something about buying sentiments for his wife. Whether it be essential or out of good will of himself. True, there was Mrs. Hudson downstairs, but the woman could be troublesome at times. Her stories … He'd heard them many times before and had no desire to relive the agonizingly long hours of being glued, no, _cemented_ to a chair listening to a story he could possibly solve, no, _definitely_ solve in 15 minutes flat.

All the cases that had been assigned or offered to them had either been solved or of little importance to the mind and their time. Mycroft would only bore him with words that would ultimately lead them into a conversation of yelling. Pointless bicker-backer. It was times like these, when his mind was left out of things to do, did he feel his worst.

Bored.

"…Bored." Sherlock stated flatly.

He glanced over at his desk, contemplating whether or not he should take out the gun he kept in there. He choose to have a lazy day. Maybe he should try and make a game of chess with himself. That was always interesting. There was always that. Then again, it might not be as interesting as solving cases. He stood up from his chair, raking a hand through his curly black-ish brown hair, and started to pace his black shoes quietly stepping on the floorboards as his mind raced in thought.

He couldn't just sit around and be a blob of fat all day. Granted it was night, but it was too early to go to might wake up early the next morning and find his boredom once more, ready to plague him. Plus, his mind was too awake to sleep, making it almost impossible to think of sleep at a time like this.

It was pure madness.

And he refused to swell in the thoughts his head he'd spent so long to repress. It wasn't good to think of such things while working on a case. Unless that as John, being the only exception. Who was now being a normal human and getting flowers for a person whom he decided to devote all his romantic feelings for. Not like Sherlock would ever end up doing that. It would only end up slowing him down in his work.

"Oh what the hell." He muttered to himself.

He stepped over rather impatiently and opened the drawer, taking out the gun. He clenched the handle of it not tightly, but not loosely, keeping it at his side at first. He stared at the wallpaper, trying to find something to aim at. Something that would be an easy target. The smiley face always seemed like a pleasant choice. It helped when trying to use his blind spot. Sherlock turned himself sideways, facing the window outside, his right side facing the wall

His eyes stayed pinned to the window as he let his breathing slow, his heart rate steady. His mind started to calculate the angle of which h should hit the target at while at the same time the probability of the shot moving upward from where he originally wanted to aim for. Numbers flew by in his head, possible outcomes and probabilities all zooming at a fast pace. Almost like a calculator.

His grip loosened on the gun, making him unconsciously grip it tighter. He kept his head down for a moment, letting out a small breath of exhaustion. He brought the gun forward, opening the chamber just to make sure that there were still 5 rounds in there. He never knew if John had taken the gun out of there. He did once, but from what he could deduce, he hadn't touched it since. Taking a look inside the chamber, he saw what he had thought to be 5, now 4 metallic bullets lodged in the chamber. He must have forgot that John had probably used the gun when he took it. He just didn't take care to reload.

He took his hand over the gun and closed the chamber, placing the handle of it back in his palm. He closed his yes in thought, keeping a now firm hold on the gun handle. He kept his feet apart, pointing them straight forward at the window. Silence filled the room for a long while. Just Sherlock and his thoughts. Outside, he could hear the bustle of the city, now forcing himself to drown them all out as he tried to concentrate. It was time to focus.

No need to waste little importance on the lives of other civilians outside. Keeping his head low, he blocked out the rest of the noise as he raised the gun. He positioned his arm in a way that his gun was aimed at the smiley face he shot at so many times before. Once he was just about positive that he was at his target, he lifted his head to use his full peripheral vision. Granted that he was trying to enhance his blind spot.

He ran his finger over the trigger, a loud BANG erupting throughout the room as he felt something leave the gun's tip, making his hand jerk backward slightly. He fired a few more rounds until his gun was completely spent, leaving the gun empty. And also when Mrs. Hudson came though the doorway with her temper on fire.

"Sherlock Holmes! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing to my wall?!"

He turned to her with a combination of unamusement and a sort of ticked off attitude. She had her hands on her hips as she glared at him.

"That is coming out of your rent! Hope you know that!" she stated firmly as she took a rather authoritative stance at the doorway to his flat, which she should, considering she was his landlady.

He could tell from her posture and eyes, thought, that she didn't really mean it. So he chose to shrug off her anger, leaning back in a chair as he felt the glare that was being sent his way by none other than Mrs. Hudson herself.

"Mrs. Hudson, if you did wish to do that, you would have done that months ago instead of threatening to do so now." he said flatly as if talking with her was of the most boring thing in existence at the moment.

Her eyebrows furrowed into a expression he could only decipher as pissed the bloody hell off. Like a boiling kettle, her temper was gradually starting to rise.

"Sherlock Holmes, you should be grateful for all you've got instead of wasting and damaging it!"

"On the contrary, Mrs. Hudson, things can be fixed. Renovators hired. As to the answer to your trivial second question, in no way am I ungrateful, Mrs. Hudson."

She had her bony yet angry hands still placed firmly on her hips as she glared at him, now halfheartedly as she did so.

"Then you better stop acting like you are! No wonder you've no friends!"

"That's because I choose to not share my companionship with other people besides the ones I choose to associate with or are in need of any services from myself." he retorted back to her.

The room stayed dead silent as the two of them just stared into each others eyes. The tension created in the room was undeniable. Unintentionally, he'd struck a nerve. In Mrs. Hudson …. And possibly himself as well. Mrs. Hudson took a small step backward, not in fear, but relatively calmly.

"… Then Mr. Holmes, I will leave you to being in the company of your own companionship." she said quietly as she turned around and walked down the stairs.

He watched her retreating form as he heard the clank of her footsteps against the stairs as she descended them. He couldn't even manage to say anything toward her. Then again, who would want to test the waters in the atmosphere filled with so much tension? He'd done so many times before, but he was confident that he'd find a way out of it. But for this, he decided to let it be. Lest he say something that would end up reminding himself of his loneliness that he seemed to have.

Once he saw her gone from the stairs he stood up once more, keeping his exposed hands behind his back as he slowly paced the floor once more. He would probably should find a reason to apologize to her for, although in his opinion, he didn't see any to. John had told him that things such as _that_ would tend to make people a bit sensitive and "hurt" even.

_Note to self, go to a flower shop tomorrow._

Or better yet, get John to look one up and send her a flower arrangement that she would like. He wasn't one for flowers, but he knew that he was, since he was with a woman who adored such things. . His fingers were brought to his temples as he rubbed them to try and think straight. He had to admit, their little chat had been entertaining for the moment, but it didn't last long.

His mind longed for something to do. His greenish-blue coloured eyes flickered over to the gun he had been holding just moments ago. He could continue to shoot at the wall once more. It had been entertaining for the most part. Calculating the precise movements and actions he would have to take, while enhancing his skills.

… But it got boring really quickly.

He needed a case. Oh how he needed a case. He hadn't had one in a few days, and now he was starting to feel the full effects of it. It was almost as if he were still listening to one of Mrs. Hudson's lectures. Some thing that he didn't want to endure again. Not if he could help it.

Even if he did start shooting again, all he would be doing was starting the process of having Mrs. Hudson come upstairs once more and chat about he shouldn't be shooting at her walls once more, or how he 'had no regard for the flat that she most generously let him live in'. All the same, in his mind. There was no need repeating that … Unless he was indeed _that_ bored.

He needed John here. He may not be the best person when it came to deducing things, which he himself was, but John was at least there to keep him company on days like this were there seemed to be nothing to do but sit around be like everyone else on a day such as this. … Normal … It was funny. He never considered himself a normal person, so doing things like normal people would was a bit … boring to him. He didn't want to just sit around and do nothing! He needed to get out and do something! Solve a murder! Criticize John for thinking that a ketchup stain was that of a blood stain. Ignore the calls from Mycroft, trying to get him to do some blasted case that he, frankly, had better things to do than do them… Even if he had nothing to do.

Giving into the urge to at least do something, he picked up the handle to the silver weapon he had been using earlier and went into the small drawer to get out another round to put into it, being careful to make sure that they were all placed correctly. Honestly, you didn't know how many times people would put the bullet in backwards … It was humiliating to say the least, to find that half of the bullets were put in wrong. He quickly closed the chamber to the gun, closing the drawer once more as he went to stand back in his position at the window.

He kept his eyes focused on the window alone as he tried to concentrate … Although something caught his eyes for the moment. Something didn't look necessarily right outside, but then again, that wasn't what he was supposed to be focusing on. It was probably a car parked for a gathering of drunken people across the street from him. Nothing to concern himself with. Or it was probably a police car, Lestrade, no doubt, just checking to make sure nothing bad was going on inside 221B Baker Street, since he may have had the gun shots being fired.

Hell, it would hit anyone's hearing, really. It had even taken him a second to register Mrs. Hudson's voice after making sure the ringing in his ears died down. So he guessed he shouldn't have been surprised that Lestrade had made an appearance. He would deal with Lestrade later, he decided as he focused on the task at hand. Getting back into position to shoot at the wall again, he turned his head to the smiley face that snickered back at him from the wall as he pointed his gun to it, using his peripheral vision to help him. His eyelids closed for a moment as he steadied his breathing.

_Focus_ …

Calculations sped through his mind once more at exactly where he should angle his arm, at what degree his head should be at, the direct point that the bullet would hit the wall. They overflowed his mind as he adjusted his body to it accordingly. As soon as he though, no, _knew_ that his was physically ready to take the shot he opened his eyes once more.

The soft sounds of creaking floorboard suddenly pierced his ears. He had heard steps like that all the time when someone was coming up to their flat. Could Lestrade just not keep his nose out of things! Honestly, everything was under control and alright over here. He didn't need to worry. And even if it wasn't, Lestrade would not have been the person to call because of that. He shook off the sound of the approaching footprints as he continued to stay focused.

His arm that was currently held at his side as soon raised at an angle where he would be able to hit his target, the smiley face, flawlessly. His calculations were just about never wrong. There was rarely a time when they weren't. Clearing his mind of all thoughts, he made sure that the only thing in them was his target, and him.

Not that he would have this much time if he were actually in a situation where he had to use a gun, but it was nice to at least have some time to get some practice before having to set his brain into overdrive to do such a task. Letting out a small breath, his finger slid over the trigger of the gun-

... Until the outline of a silhouette was visible in his peripheral range.

Sherlock restrained himself from letting out an irritated sigh as he kept his gaze to the side, and only to his side. The figure of what he could assume was Lestrade, was leaning against the door frame of his flat, it's arms crossed as he looked at him and what he was doing. Sherlock kept his greenish-blue orbs on the wall in front of him instead at Lestrade in the doorway.

"What is it with you always coming to me door, hmm? I haven't killed anyone, I promise you." Sherlock said dully.

Lestrade didn't talk for a moment but only let out a small laugh as his gaze never left the man with the gun. Sherlock found this odd for a moment. A smug aura around Lestrade was usual, especially when he thought he was about to catch him in the act of 'being the madman he always knew he was'. Oh great. That only meant that there were probably more police cars outside, waiting for him. What where they going to do, raid his flat again?! Oh John would love that. Seeing as he had managed to get himself arrested while he was out getting unneeded treats for his wife. Lovely.

"And for the record, if you're here for a pick up, then I don't think that will be necessary. As you're probably misunderstanding the entire thing." Sherlock added after that, keeping a calm expression on his face the entire time.

Lestrade didn't seem phased by this at all, still smiling at him.

"… My apologies." said a unfamiliar voice.

The realization that the person was not in fact Lestrade momentarily put up a red flag for him. The person standing at the door, continued, although seeing a slight change in the way Sherlock was looking at the wall.

"But I thought you were in need of a Doctor."

From that sentence alone, the only thing heard in the apartment was the sound of two gun shots.

* * *

_**Author's Note**_

Thought I might leave you all on that note. I'm going to add another Chapter to wrap it all up, but it might not be up for maybe a week or so. So you might not know why the Doctor is here or not ... Or if he is alright ... You know, because of those shots ... -likes leaving people in cliff hangers-

But I promise, I have an idea to end this little FanFiction, so don't fret. For now, I hope you enjoyed the story thus far.


	2. Geronimo

**Disclaimer** \- I do not own Sherlock or Doctor Who. If I did, I would be god. But sadly, I am no such thing. This is only for entertainment purposes. In no way do I do this for any profit or anything ... Not like I really would, but still ...

**Television Shows** \- Doctor Who &amp; Sherlock ^w^

**Pairings** \- ... There is a mention of John x Mary, and probably an implied Doctor (The Eleventh Doctor) x Sherlock (Although David Tennant is love~~)

I thought about this one day when I was in class and thought this might be something cool to write about. I haven't really written any Doctor Who or Sherlock fanfiction, and I thought it would possibly be a test on my abilities as a FanFiction writer to see if I could actually write something from the perspective of these two brilliant men. It is my first attempt at a WhoLock FanFiction, so I try to please. ... Besides that ... I don't think I have anything else to say at the moment. I hope you enjoy!

Also, this is before Episode 9 ("His Last Vow") and the Doctor Who Christmas Special (2013) ("The Time of the Doctor") Just for reference sake.

I hope you enjoy the Second Chapter to this, which will hopefully be the last of it. Like the story, comment on it, or do whatever you do to give me feedback on this, and I hope you have enjoyed the story thus far. -gives a tip of the hat as the story is now revealed-

* * *

_**Scene II**_

Who. Are. _You_.

That was the only question running through Sherlock's head.

Who was _he_?!

Sherlock's head slowly turned so that he could address the man who had come to speak with him.  
The man that was in front of the doorway was obviously not from around here, and if he was, so be it! He obviously didn't look like it, from the way he walked, talked, and ultimately, blinked and breathed. He looked … Out of place, yet completely conformed into it. It was maddened.

He could place this man … Yet at the same time … He couldn't. From the way he talked, he seemed as if he … were analyzing him. Like he was a higher being. Although, he had to admit that he did that quite a lot with other people of the same species. Some people were just … _really_ stupid sometimes, so it was in his best judgment to scrutinize them to see if they were on his level, or could at least be on some sort of level where the other could at least have a conversation with him that didn't involve him having a headache.

"Don't mind me, but, it was kind of rude to do that." a voice said after a long while, which wasn't his own.

Sherlock turned to the man in question as he saw him examining the two bullets lodged into the wood of the door frame as if he was intrigued by it.

Honestly, hadn't the man seen bullet holes before? His face may have not shown the 'You bloody idiot' expression it wanted it, but his mind more than certainly did. He saw as the man traced long slender fingers, although what he thought to be young, but now that he saw them roam over the two bullet holes, they were probably much older than they appeared, over the wood itself.

The man seemed to not notice Sherlock for a moment, a bit too into examining the bullet holes, before realizing that he'd said something and addressed Sherlock once more. The man's eyes met Sherlock's, giving him the slightest of smiles, although smile, yet warm at the same time. Sherlock made no move to smile back, or to even acknowledge that he'd even seen him smile at him at all. The other man simple chuckled at him, watching him from the door frame, his arms now crossed.

"… Hello." he said to the unresponsive Sherlock

Sherlock still didn't make a notion to let the other know that he'd heard him, leaving the man to sigh deeply. He made a step forward, on the brink of entering the room itself. He didn't dare enter unless the other allowed him.

"You probab-"

"I SWEAR TO GOD SHERLOCK HOLMES, WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU ABOUT SHOOTING AT MY WALLS?!" Mrs. Hudson said, moving past the new man and marched in front of Sherlock, looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows above furious eyes that could send any man cowering.

Sherlock at that point hadn't really minded Mrs. Hudson's sudden appearance into the conversation. He was more or less fixated on the man before him. What did he have to say, for gods sakes?!

"… Mrs. Hudson, I would appreciate it if you would simpl-"

"Appreciate nothing, you do!" She started, hands on her hips to glare up at him. "I give you a roof over your head so that you can do your bloody cases. I can easily take that away if you damage my walls anymore, Sherlock Holmes!" she said, her composure tight, her eyes burning into his soul if they only could.

The man in the doorway said nothing to this, simply observing the angry women. Either he was clever enough to stay quiet, or he simply had no desire to be noticed at the time being. Clever man. Sherlock's eye sight directed from the man back to Mrs. Hudson, trying to search his brain for the correct response to say back to her.

"…..I kindly ask of you to leave the flat at the moment, Mrs. Hudson, I have everything und-"

"About to say everything under bloody control, aren't you?! Well, you don't if you're bloody shooting at my walls!" She argued.

Boy this woman was a force to be reckoned with. . It was almost like there was no stopping her once she got into a state like this. He wasn't completely concerned with it at this point, but he did wish that he didn't have to deal with it now. It wouldn't be getting him anywhere if he wouldn't be able to talk with the man.

"The walls will be fine, Mrs. Hudson, I reassure you, now can you please-"

"If you're shooing me out just so that you can have free range at my walls again, I will not be having that, Sherlock Holmes!" She told him flatly, the sound of her voice just on the borderline of threatening, that it was almost as if she were just angry.

"I hope I'm not interrupting, but he isn't going to be shooting at your walls any longer, Mrs. Hudson."

At this, both of their gazes turned to the man in the doorway that Mrs. Hudson clearly disregarded. Mrs. Hudson's eyes grew larger now that she finally acknowledged the other man in the room. Her entire being seemed to have done a once over to see if she really had been that blind as to not have noticed him.

"…. I'm terribly sorry, dear." Mrs. Hudson said, quick to apologize. "I didn't see you there."

"No apology needed." He replied softly to her, gently smiling at her apologetic form. "If anything, it's rather refreshing."

Her eyes fluttered for a moment before asking, "… I do beg your pardon, but do you mind telling me who are you?"

At this, the man said nothing. He only let out a small chuckle, looking at the ground for a moment. He rubbed the tips of his shoes together before looking backup, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned on the door frame.

"… Just an old friend."

"I don't have friends." Sherlock replied rather quickly.

"… I'm about to become one." He said with a smile, looking at the other in his eyes.

The two stayed like that for what seemed like centuries, staring at each other like that. It got to the point that even Mrs. Hudson had seen the tension (or what she assumed was tension) between the two.

She looked back and forth between the both of them and after a while, said, "Well! How about I get you two some tea, hmm?"

There was a bit of silence for a moment before the man spoke.

"That would be lovely, Mrs. Hudson. A pleasure to be meeting you."

She was slightly taken aback by his politeness, but didn't try and keep that from stopping her from what she was doing. Plus, it was a bit awkward being alone with the two of them, considering the tension that seemed to emit off of them.

"The pleasure is mine, dear." She said in return.

Soon enough, she slowly made her way toward the door just about ready to walk past the man before blinking for a moment.

"… I'm sorry, but it seems I didn't get a name from you." She asked, turning around to look at him.

The man straightened his tweed jacket a bit as he turned his head to face her with a slight smirk on his face.

"They call me The Doctor." He, no, The Doctor said.

She furrowed her brows at this. This man couldn't possibly be named that! There had to be more!

"…. Doctor… Who?" She asked in confusion.

"No, not Doctor Who. Simply 'The Doctor'. Or Doctor, if you prefer. Seems many people just call me Doctor. Unless, they're Daleks, then that's another matter entirely. Don't want to run into those. Nasty ones those are." He said, almost as if he was explaining to her his life story, or explaining to a person how things were supposed to go in the world.

"… Well … Doctor … It was a pleasure meeting you. I'll be up with the tea in a bit. And no roughhousing, you two!" She said before hurrying downstairs.

"I don't think that should be much of a problem." He- The Doctor said, but as soon as she was out of earshot, he turned back to Sherlock. "As long as you don't go firing off that gun again. I swear, I don't like guns. I'm sorry, but I don't. So I would appreciate it if you lowered that thing." He said, leaning against the door a bit more as he looked at Sherlock as if he were in his way or something.

Sherlock stayed put though. He had no clue who this man was. He couldn't put his finger on him, or … Really anything. And that was not something that he liked. He needed to find more information on this man. And luckily… He had. At least, not intentionally. Over a few of the cases that John and he had done, he'd found some information about a man with some descriptions that fit the man's personality before him. Or at least what he thought was his personality.

He had some assumptions about the man. Considering how he dressed, classy, yet not too over the top, and by the marks on his shoes, he could tell that he ran a lot. He must be travel quite often. From some of the lines on his face, the creases in his skin, he was probably older than he appeared. Maybe in his late thirties, or forties instead of his assumed twenties or early thirties. But still… There was a limit to how much he could assume about the man.

He begrudgingly lowered the gun down so that it was staring at the floor, although keeping a firm grip on it, lest the man try anything, although from the way he stood, and his facial expression, it didn't appear that he was going to hurt anyone.

"… Are you one of my clients?" He asked curiously, scanning the man up and down as if he could find some trace that might lead to someone sending this man to mess with his mind.

It wouldn't be unexpected, honestly. He'd been gone for so long, traveling places. Might as well send another person to get his mind going. He was actually sort of surprised when the other started to laugh. He wasn't sure if he was thinking of something funny, or if he was laughing at his question. It was a perfectly reasonable question in his opinion.

There wasn't anything about it that could have a person to simply laugh at him. The man walked into the room more, reaching to grab one of the chairs. Almost immediately, Sherlock had his eyes pinned on him and was _this_ close to the man. The other simply looked at him with a small chuckle.

"… You're really on edge about new people, aren't you?" He said, smiling at him.

"Wary." He corrected.

The ma- No, The Doctor gave a small smile, and soon took the chair and brought it over to a chair that he assumed Sherlock sat in, placing himself in the chair he brought over. He glanced over at Sherlock and with a wave of his hand, ushered him over.

"Oh come on now! I mean, we do have all day, but I'd rather do this without any unnecessary … What's the word… Without any unnecessary conflict. Not that I think that you'd want that at the moment but-"

Sherlock still didn't trust this man. Even if he had a tendency to babble. Apparently this was a man that liked the talk. He could only assume that he could fall silent if he mentioned something that struck a nerve. He must be hiding something, he knew that for a fact. He had to be. He took what the Doctor said in stride as he made his way to his chair, staring at the man.

"… You still haven't answered my question if you're my client or not. John hasn't mentioned anything about a 'Doctor' to me." He said flatly.

The Doctor shifted a bit, crossing his legs in the same fashion Sherlock was dawning now.

"John? As in John Watson?" He said curiously. "Oh yes, I know of him well. Lovely guy he is. And if you're wondering, yes I've been in contact with him."

How is that possible… John would normally lets him know about important things like this. Or if not, he'd find information of him speaking with this man before. He would have found emails or letters that the two wrote to one another sooner or later. Unless they didn't do that…

"In fact, I talked with him earlier today. He's told me a lot about you, Sherlock." He said with a soft smile.

The smile that he was becoming very skeptical and wary about. He was almost glad for John's sake that he didn't live at his flat anymore. Otherwise, if he did, he'd certainly interrogate him about all of this when he came in. But no. He was out getting sentiments for Mary. ... Unless-

_He's been meeting him in public... _

If he could be able to check security camera's outside of stores or shops, he could probably find the two talking. He should have known. Was this man bribing John so that he could tell him information about himself? He was almost certain John would have not told anything personal, but still the fact that he'd even told this man anything about him. Not that he minded, since John also had a blog dedicated to their cases of triumph and some failures. But telling information that might not be just what he put in his silly unimportant blog was something that didn't go right with him.

"Don't worry. It wasn't anything bad, I promise. But sometimes when I go to places, your name comes up… I've been interested in you for quite a while, Sherlock, as you can probably guess." He said, uncrossing his legs as he looked at him with a serious but still somewhat happy smile on his face.

It set Sherlock a bit on edge, making himself not move a muscle toward the man at all. He didn't know if he could trust this man or not, but from the looks of it … He wasn't sure.

"Yes, I know that I didn't answer your question, but soon that won't really matter." He said reassuringly.

Sherlock seriously didn't like where this was going. This could be anything. This could just be a really good salesman in disguise, or he was working with someone against him to find information to trick him and send his mind spinning. He needed to be ready for anything. Especially with this man. This man was very dangerous.

"So if you're not a client, that who are you?" He asked him with the most serious face he could muster at the moment.

The Doctor simply scoffed at him

"I think you're asking the wrong question there, Holmes." He said, tapping his forehead. "More like _what_ are you. … I mean, you already know who I am. I'm the Doctor." He stated as if it was already written down in stone.

Sherlock paused for a moment as he tried to process if he had just heard him right. Did he just say-

"… I beg your pardon? _What_ are you?"

"Yes, exactly, that the qu-"

"That's not what I meant. As in, why do I need to ask that. Obviously you are a man. You seem to be running around a lot, traveling I presume, have seen far more than you're willing to share, probably even have mental scars as well as some physical scars as well, and possibly have been said to be crazy or if not a psychopath."

The Doctor let out a long sigh, raking a hand through his hair.

"… I do have to say, I am rather impressed. You're rather observant about other people. That could come in handy." He said with a small smile. "You are right, I have to say. But that's not what I was hoping for."

"My intention is not to disappoint."

"I know it isn't."

"Another thing John must have told, you isn't it?"

"No it isn't, I simply assumed that myself, now if you would please."

Sherlock stayed silent after that, examining the man once more, trying to search for something, anything, that could tell him more about him. He needed answers. And he needed them soon. The Doctor simply gave him a bright smile, looking at him as those eyes seemed to try and penetrate his soul.

This was a clever man indeed. He needed a clever man. Or companion to say the least. The gender didn't have to be specific, honestly. But from what he'd observed and from what he'd heard about this man... He could prove to be a great companion. He leaned forward as he smiled at him.

"Mister Holmes, I'm terribly sorry for interrupting your intent search of myself, but I do need to ask something of you. It's rather important, so I'd probably need your f-"

"Your coat appears to have fading and stains on it from places you've been. There are hidden wrinkles on your face obviously hinting at the sign of an significant age although your exterior is nothing but seeming to be young. Your eyes... They seem to be full with happiness and light but at a closer look, it appears that you've seen things you'd rather not have."

The room fell silent at this, neither one of them speaking.

... Until the Doctor raised up his palm.

"You're a very observant man, Sherlock." He said firstly. "It's a good thing. Something that I need."

Sherlock quirked a brow in obvious curiosity.

"That's not what I mean." The Doctor said before his gaze hit the floor. "I need you. I need people that are like you. There aren't many people in the world that hold..." He put a hand to his chin at this. "What is it called... Hold that special _spark_ in them. That certain something that makes them just right."

"... I don't understand."

The Doctor looked up and gave him a warm, honest smile.

"I want you to travel with me."

"Traveling is something he is not going to be doing."

The two heads turned to the doorway to see the one man Sherlock hadn't expected, yet should have known would be there.

"John-"

"He left once. Like hell I'm letting him leave again." John Watson muttered as he stood in the doorway.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I've decided to break this up into three parts. I've had this on file for a while and just haven't known how to finish this bit. In the next chapter, and hopefully the last, it will basically sum up if the two will go with each other. That chapter will probably be short, but much more action will probably be involved.

I'my sorry that I've been delaying and delaying on posting things. I've had school and my summer was pretty hectic. Plus, I'm saving up for a new laptop, so typing this all up is a bit of a hassle. I apologize. Expect the new chapter up either next week or sometime in December.

Please like, comment, review, or whatever you like to this. I'd love to hear what is thought of this and if you have any ideas.

Thank any of you that liked this. -kind of sucks, but I'm sorry-


End file.
